Of Railroad and Tree-Barrier Friends

Can I be someone else today?  A brilliant artist, a clever novelist, or the sort of girl who can walk down railroad tracks without any shoes on, wearing a breezy yellow summer dress, just because?

My bedroom window opens out on three I-don't-know-what-they're-called trees.  This tall, leafy trio forms a sort of stained glass barrier between where I sit at my window and (what I presume would be) a lovely view of the mountains given that the fog or smog didn't interfere and make everything look hazy and dusty and cause for the coughs. 

These tree-friends of mine are rooted in precisely the exact spot to block out the blue-hued mountains.  I don't mind, except for sometimes when I think a guarding mountain would be helpful.  Without their steadfast stance (though their branches and leaves move this way and that), I would feel like everyone in Monrovia could look up and see me sitting at my desk, typing this blog with a purple Twistie Turbie towel on my head.  Not that it really matters, but still.

Through the branches, I can seen fragments of the abandoned railroad and the old, rusted boxcar left to fend for itself in rain and blistering heat.  I've wanted to visit, but always back out, for I so often see others (some who scare me) shuffling their feet and kicking railroad gravel who seem to be  either bored or angry at the world or a combination of both.  I am afraid to run into one of them by surprise.  I am a 'fraidy cat.  I watch from my window and envy their bravery. 

For the past five-or-so years, I have always had a railroad nigh in my backyard.  It feels safe and familiar and sadly friendly.  Railroads have become a symbol for motion and change, yet always steady with a set path.  I like railroads.  I want always to be near them.  Abandoned railroads seem to be best because they have worked so hard with their destinations and chug-chugging and are finally able to rest in peace; a fossil of a way to somewhere.

Today, is a no make-up sort of day, but I'm going out to get some sandwiches and feel obligated to do something to my face because that is what I always do.

And as I go, I am thinking of railroads and tree barriers.  Meanwhile, I can hear a garbage truck out on the street somewhere making that steady, pulsing warning alarm-drone before heading off again to collect someone else's forgottens.

{polaroids:  from visits with my old railroad friend}

© kimberly k taylor